Christmas Vacation: Home and at Work

i'm at work this week while the minions and the robb are at home. this is what i get by text.

they're museum-ing today and 'relaxing' (as much as you do with two little needers in toe). 

i miss them and feel just a smidge sorry for myself that i'm not home with them, but, really, i love what i do and it's kind of nice to be surrounded by grown people who are responsible for the content of their own nostrils and bowels and don't require my help in their management.

and as i've concluded before, i'm never sorry that i go...but i am always sorry that i leave. i like being at work, i just hate leaving my tiny loves. 

it is what it is.

plus, i like that henry knows that 'mommy helps fix people's bellies at work at the hospital.' 

it makes me feel like a very pelvic-villain-specific super hero. ;)

but i had a lovely few days off and feel refreshed and rejuvinated. and we had a GREAT Christmas filled with family and sunshine and delicious food and fun presents. spoiled, blessed, and happy are we. 

henry was bumming about Christmas being done, taking doen the tree, etc. i told him next up new year's! and anna's birthday in 2 weeks!

we'll try to keep up the festive spirit, even without the december glitter.

Pretty in Pink. Tough in Grey. But Also Tough in Pink and Pretty in Grey.

someone asked me the other day if anna was a 'girly' girl. 

well, there are much smarter, more gender reflecting answers i can give, but i'm tired and sick of braining right now (not because i'm a girl. hashtag rude). 

basically, does she wear pink and play with dolls?

no, because she's not yet 1 and has no say in what she wears, does, or plays with. she's stuck with representing my version of girl-ness, which looks pretty low key. like my casual relationship with the rejection of body hair and that i prefer to buy my underwear in a 6-pack and like my shampoo mixed right in there with my conditioner.

and she's a baby bean still, so she eats toy hammers and baby dolls indiscriminately.

she mostly wears henry's hand-me-downs and when she does wear technically girl clothes, they're from baby gap's german chancellor line.

and i don't entirely know what it means to be 'girly' anyway. like won't touch lizards? only wears pink fruf? prefers figuring out the complex nature of boys instead of chemical compositions?

i just want her to like herself. however that self may be.

and i find pants more condusive to crawling and beating the living shit out of her brother than dresses are.

BUT look how adorable she is in her first skirt!!!! oh, dear. 

Anna is Eleven Months and Lifting Off

pumpkin girl turned 11 months on 12/13/14. cool, right? call the papers and stuff.

she is getting to be so much fun! she's even sharper than before (not just those puppy teeth. #stillnursing #oy). she follows everything we do and plays little games and jokes with us. 

she's not signing or speaking american english words yet, but she is proficient is monkey and gets the job done with that.

she crawls like a beast and took a few steps today! three little fast ones toward me in the middle of the room and then two more later, couch-adjacent but not touching. wooooo!!! proud. those cheeks are not weighing her down, as feared.

she has had a cough & snot nose & sleeplessness for a few weeks but it seems to be lifting a little now, with breathing treatments and other aids.

she has been spirited and spunky throughout it. a little plague won't keep this girl down!

so in love and so excited. she's been anna-ing great so far, excited to see her anna on.

I Will Not Save the Dolphins. I Hate the Dolphins. Stop Talking About the Dolphins.

maybe the hardest part of being a parent is that you have to act like a grown-up all the time.

you would otherwise whine and throw things and throw your head back and howl and curl up in a booze ball, but you have to be brave, and keep trying to be polite and reasonable and a good example even in the roughest of moments and.....it's hard.

i cried last night when my baby wouldn't sleep and kept coughing, pitifully. i cried because i felt bad for her. and for me.

i feel most especially tested in my grown-up abilities when my kids are sick. they've been sick-esque for weeks and it's EXHAUSTING and frightening and frustrating and painful. the sound of tiny bodies hacking and coughing does something physical to us and it's awful. i just want to cry with them and be held by a big person my ownself.

we have family going through a health crisis with their little wee one right now and i just KNOW that these grown people, these parents, have fantasies of throwing themselves on the ground and crying until someone swoops them up and offers them ice cream. you DO talk to all the specialists about how they plan to poke and prod at your poor kid in the name of making him well. you DO listen and nod your head and ask the right questions. but you KIND of REALLY want to spit your chocolate milk in their faces because they are mean and stupid and you want them to go away. you want the whole thing to go away.

but you don't, because you're a parent and a grown-up and you're drinking coffee, not chocolate milk, and spitting hot coffee on someone might be a criminal offense and...#lame.

so, i was at one of the hippie grocery stores today that i frequent. i was feeling frisky, so i took both kids with me, after i picked them up from daycare after work. they were great, but they're both loud and full of needs, and are both just getting through their ailments, so between my cart holding the food and the anna and henry's little kid cart that he was manning himself (knocking into strangers, stopping to examine all the candy), we were sailing down the aisles like this big, loud, consumption float. 

so i'm feeling pretty accomplished until the cashier heckles me about not bringing my own reusable bags.

again, i wanted to bring fire down on him in a I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN DO TWO SICK KIDS WORK ALL THE TIME HOUSE STILL STANDING MOST BILLS PAID ON TIME TRYING TO GET READY FOR CHRISTMAS TRYING TO BE KIND AND GIVING AND A PRETTY GOOD HIPPIE, ACTUALLY, BUT TODAY, BUDDY, TODAY I JUST DON'T CARE ABOUT THE EARTH sorta way.

but instead, i thanked him and left. because i'm a blerging grown-up and i don't need his approval and i don't need my kids to see mommy beat someone unconscious with a loaf of pretzel bread.

but, man, in my head...big salt was flying. 

maybe at a later stage of life i'll save the dolphins, but for now i'm just trying to keep these 4 people, (and a few extra we've collected) out of the tuna nets.

so to speak. 

Are Girls Just as Good as Boys? Yet? Still? Soon? Hello?

i've been thinking a lot about how the skin you're poured into at birth will instantly and forever shape how you are perceived and treated and what options you will have in life. 

it's true for what genitalia you've got slung on you, too. 

i have drafted many posts on my absolute terror at raising a girl. at having to help anna figure out that life won't be quite as open and easy, safe or fair as it will be for her brother. i haven't put them out, because they're hard for me. my thoughts are muddy stuck in worry and disappointment and maybe some sexism, and definitely some helplessness. and i don't want to give her that mess. i don't even want to put it onto the internets and wade through it all. i want to give hope to her, and you. i want to be a voice of earnest belief that things. are. getting. better. 

but i just keep concluding that girls are just not as good as boys. there's so much evidence that that simply MUST be true. 

my words are too many and too tangled and lost and inconclusive and....so, poem. 

girls are just as good as boys

*but that can't possibly be true

why not?

*if it were, then we wouldn't be so mistreated 

*our bodies wouldn't be our most important part and deserve such constant critique

*we would accelerate at the same rate as boys and there would be no limit

*we would be encouraged and applauded for being successful and large at life

*we wouldn't be shamed for our biological differences like blood, milk, and babies

*our massive differences in the fact that babies come out of us and not men wouldn't automatically make us burdens or weapons or moral and political cunundrums 

*a vagina wouldn't be a euphamism for something weak and bad

*our voices wouldn't be silenced in the name of keeping order or honoring a god

*our position and safety and future wouldn't be dependent on men

*we wouldn't all be so "crazy" and "insane" and "hormonal" and "unpredictable" ''

(untrustworthy, unworthy, unreliable, weak again) 

so then, girls aren't as good as boys?

*obviously not. look around. the world makes it clear. 

what if we ARE just as good, but the world is wrong?

*yeah, good luck with that, then. 

then what am i supposed to do, mom?

***********************************

On Prejudice and Privilege

3 very public deaths in the last few months by police. this past week 2 decisions by grand juries have come back without indictments of the officers. victims are a 12 year old, an 18 year old, and a 43 year old father of 6. in at least 2 of the cases, the police officers were white and the victims/perpetrators were black.

so the whole nation is up in arms. actually, there's controversy about putting arms up in a surrender posture in solidarity of one of the men who was shot. it has been said that this is hypercritical of the police force.

there have been riots. there has been much anger and sadness. and some grief and fear. apparently everybody's #drunkuncle showed up for thanksgiving and went all full racist on the topic.

i'm grieving for the deaths, because they seem violent and shocking and preventable. i'm grieving for the families who are without their kids and dad and husband now. i'm grieving for the police officers involved who have to live with this now, always. their careers and lives will never be the same and their dreams may never be unhaunted by it.

but i'm also grieving and worried for our country. it seems like everyone immediately "us'd" and "them'd" and took a side and firmly planted their feet. where is the big "us" who just lost some of its people? some of our children? aren't these our kids, too? and if these deaths could have been prevented by some small changes in protocol or perspective, isn't that what we all should be shouting for? why wouldn't we all be on THAT side?

i'm one of a kabillion voices weighing in on this right now, and i apologize if you're heart and mind are tired of the topic, but i have a theory.

our actions are influenced by our perceptions, which are influenced by our prejudices.

what we do in response to a stimuli is based on how we perceive that stimuli, and how we perceive it is based on prior experiences we've had with it or assumptions we've made about it.

so, let's say that i am a police officer and i carry a weapon for my job. i am instructed to use this weapon to 'neutralize' threats. so, what's a threat? well, it's anything i subjectively decide is a potential danger to another civilian or to myself. my perception of this threat is influenced by any underlying prejudices i have.

so let's say, based on my inherent prejudices, if i see a white man walking down the street, he carries a threat level of 3/10 for me. let's say if i see a black man walking down the street, he carries a threat level of 5/10 for me.

so, if my threshold for discharging my weapon based on my perceived threat is a 10/10...do you see how much closer the black man is to getting shot than the white man?

i'm not a police officer. i don't carry a gun. thank Jesus i don't have to make those insanely difficult decisions and worry constantly about my own safety...and the safety of all people everywhere, always. they have a big job. bless them.

but i am in medicine. my prejudices will color my perceptions, which will effect how i treat people. am i more likely to dismiss pain on one patient versus another? overlook a diagnosis because of a preconceived notion? very possibly. does someone's color, language, sex, sexuality, size, eyes, hair, voice, trigger something in me that will have me responding differently than i would to someone with different characteristics? yes! very possibly yes.

so i have to check my prejudices. i owe it to my customers. it could save lives.

because i'm a weepy mombie, the story that bothered me closest was the 12 year old's. he was playing with a toy gun and when the police pulled up to respond to the potential threat that had been called in by a neighbor, they immediately shot him twice in the stomach and killed him.

henry likes weapons. swords, fake guns, 'shooting swords,' whatever. could he not easily be the 12 year old who is seen as a threat for playing with a toy gun? couldn't that be him in a few years?

well, kind of. but we all know it probably wouldn't be.

why?

well, he's white and he'll be playing in a nice park.

what did he do that was special to keep him safer? to make him appear less of a threat?

he was born the way he was, where he was.

i don't know that we're actually ever fully aware where we stand on the privilege scale. our reality is what we're born into and we don't know any difference along the way.

but we know how we're treated. we gather quickly how we're perceived. whether we're seen as a beautiful flower of the universe or an ugly weed. a benefit to society or a threat.

i know i am extraordinarily privileged. i was born white. that matters a lot. i've never been accused of shop lifting. even when i was a sketchy teenager, i apparently wasn't that sketchy, because i don't remember ever being followed around a store, not trusted. every time i've ever been pulled over by a cop it's because i was, in fact, violating traffic. i was born with money, into an intact family, in a safe neighborhood, and sent to great schools with current books and college expectations. i never wondered where my food would come from or if i would be attacked on my way to school. overall, i knew the adults i encountered had my best interest in mind. so i was rich and i was white. and then i was also straight. so when i fell in love with my person in high school and college, my biggest debate was whether it was the right time, whether i liked him enough, and then how to put together the details of my wedding. my legal wedding. i never worried i'd get assaulted or insulted for my partnership. i never would lose a job or housing arrangement over it. i do face some uphill battles in being a female, but compared to the world and the world in history, i'm one lucky sumbitch there, too.

i think it's important to recognize where we stand on the perceived threat scale based simply on our characteristics. and then critically analyze our own internal threat scale to see where people fall and why.

maybe we can save some of our people. we have to try, right?

EXCUSE ME, MOMMY??

MOMMY, I WANT AN APPLE.

(how do you ask nicely?)

PLEEEEASE.

(try it again from the beginning.)

PLEASE MAY I HAVE AN APPLE.

(see? that's better. if you just ask for it politely from the beginning, i'll just get it for you.)

YEAH. JUST GET IT FOR ME.

(.....)


also, you know how henry talks all the time? all. the time. all the time. it's great, but it can get exhausting when we can't get a word in around him and he interrupts us even when we're answering his question that he just asked and i feel like all my words are just getting sucked up into a black hole 2 inches from my mouth because NO ONE IS HEARING THEM?! 

ooh. ok. yeah. that feels better.

anyway. so we've taught him to say "excuse me" when we're talking and he wants our attention.

so now, instead of MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY, it's EXCUSE ME, MOMMY? EXCUSE ME, MOMMY, EXCUSE ME, MOMMY?

so robb and i are trying to get 30 words across to each other last night and in the background we're getting the whole EXCUSE ME script. finally, we both kind of turn and look at him, exasperatedly, and that child is waving his tiny white ass up in the air in the hallway going EXCUSE ME, MOMMY, DO YOU SEE MY BUTT? DO YOU SEE MY BUTT?

and so.

i've been laughing about it all day. that tiny little dupa, waived so proudly. and technically he did wait to finish his thought and his butt dance until he politely received our attention.

(sorry/not sorry all your toddler butt stories are on the internet, henry, love. shouldn't have interrupted me! oh, snap.)

Someday...

overwhelmed and trying, as always, to stuff too much into our already busted-out-the-seams life. i'm trying to let myself off the hook for more. delegate, choose relaxing over ass kicking on occasion. it's a good goal for 2015. (2015?? SHIT! WHAT DAY IS IT? CHRISTMAS IS NEXT WEEK? WHAT? OH IT'S THANKSGIVING? THEN WHY ARE WE SHOUTING? THANKSGIVING? BUT THEN CHRISTMAS AND I HAVEN'T PREPARED AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING AND MONEY AND WHAT AM I FORGETTING AND CHRISTMAS LETTER AND AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!).

hello, my name is sarah. and i am an anxiety junkie. but i'm a busy working mom of two young needers and i am....TRYING...TO....RELAX.

to see through this pile and this mess into the future, i have to believe that:

someday i will file all my papers promptly.
someday i will clean up my email account (currently 103 sitting in my inbox. that's pretty good)
"someday i will organize my pictures and save them responsibly" (we all know that one's a lie)
someday i will hang all the framed pictures in the house that are propped against a wall.
someday i will put the clothes away.
no, seriously, someday i will put the clothes away.
someday i will make sure there are pictures of the 2nd child up somewhere in the house.
someday i will do all the cute things, like make books and write puppet shows, for the 2nd one.
someday i won't forget her name and keep calling her 'the second one.'
someday i won't be nursing and pumping and exhausted all the time...right?
someday i'll be fully slept and i will be able to adequately finish my senten-
someday i'll be more forgiving and affectionate. to myself and everybody else.
someday i'll be able to laugh at ALL my quirks and not be stopped by self doubt.
someday i'll help the world.
someday i'll know how.
but first that stinking email account.

Ten Joyful Months, What's the Name of That Little Sea Creature That Stays Latched Onto Big Fish All the Time? Yes, That.

alright. well. anna cakes is 10 months old. she is growing weed-like and developing all kinds of new tricks. she stands on her own now for 5 seconds before falling hard on her dupa (polish for butt). she doesn't seem to mind. her tenacity and focus on her goals is really (terrifying) remarkable. she is really bold and i continue to just be baffled by her strength and perseverence. and her dexterity is getting pretty good, so she picks up the smallest wee things off the floor and puts them on her tongue. so that's neat. 

she has her bottom 2 teeth and is working on the top 2 as well. she is eating great- so far there's nothig she doesn't like. she isn't really signing yet, and her urgent verbal requests for 'mama' may or may not be directed at me, specifically, but she gets her point across when she wants stuff. and how. 

she's in that really clingy mommy phase right now that is leaving me pretty wrung out. like, if you walked into my house and did NOT hear her crying, it's because i'm holding/nursing her. and she's never been the best sleeper and we are THE WORST sleep trainers, so currently we're up every hour or two. all. night. long. so that is that.  this is, once again, where having done this before and lived through it helps so tremendously. i can soundly say that this is a phase and that we'll be on the other side of it soon-ish. meanwhile, when she's doing flips and head-butting me instead of sleeping, i'll enjoy her fluffy hair in my face and the feel of her beast muscles covered in footie pajamas. 

in henry news, he spent a couple days with my parents and sister and had a ball, as he always does. it's good for him to have the time to get loved on by them, and it's good for us to have time to catch up on some things with reduced chaos. 

when they reunited after being apart for 2 days, it was hella cute. 

ok. that was just the down and dirty. she's in her small window of sleep right now and i have lots more to do, so later for now!

I'm Your Mom AND....

i was picking up my birth control at the pharmacy the other day with my wee curious tag-along in the car and he asked me, "MOMMY, WHAT ARE WE DOING?" (getting my...medicine), "MOMMY, WHY DO YOU NEED MEDICINE? ARE YOU SICK?"

...i'm so embarrassed to say i got all weird and awkward and stammary until i finally came out with the answer i'm OK with...."i'm not sick. i'm very healthy. this medicine is helping my body work the way i want it to." 

that's the gist of it, isn't it? but, golly molly, for a second my words to him were all, "well, see i LOVE you and your sister and having babies is an AMAZING blessing but i....you know...there comes a time in everyone's life when... so, the woman's body.....erm...it uh...eggs and...stuff" 

eck. 

the truth is, henry of the future, having the ability to control whether or not i get pregnant gives me the freedom to be exactly the mom i want to be and have the family structure i want and the career and future that i want. it gives me choices and control over my body, and, since i am a woman, it gives me control over my life. i got weird for a second because in a panic i thought my genius 3 year old might figure out that i'm taking pills to squash his future siblings. 

i know.  i KNOW.

but somehow all the social, political, religious stuff that i've logic'd through a long time ago stopped me in my tracks momentarily. 

but this is nothing to be ashamed of and there's no reason to be apologetic. my body is working exactly how i want it to with the help of these pills. choosing not to be reproductively open for business is this exciting right and ability that i have and i'm exercising it. 

(some days around here i'm exercising it with much enthusiasm. disco, baby, i'm dancing that pill down the hatch. some mornings, robb and i say a little toast as i take it).

and, future henry, one day maybe you'll understand that i'm a person AND a mom. this is part of what helps me be both. 

and now in my compulsive  crazy mommy rush let me emphasize that being your mom is the MOST FREAKING BEST THING EVER. 

it truly is...but i also like being a sarah. i'm your mom AND....i'm a sarah. 

and i get to keep being a sarah, and growing and changing that sarah to be who i want her to be over the years, partly because of the miracle of birth control. 

i can be both overwhelmed with thanks for you and your sister and also be in gratitude to my ability to prevent more pregnancy. 

some day, not when you're 3, we'll talk about all this. thankfully i'll have a few years to practice my response.

and maybe some day, when you're grown and you need on me a little less and our relationship rolls over toward friendship, you'll get to know more of the sarah in me beyond the mom. i want to keep her busy and interesting all this time so that you have fun with her when the time comes. 

because hanging out with your mom is awesome. 

It Hurts Too Much. This is Just One Big Trigger. I Have to Release This But You Don't Have to Read It.

nothing has changed. i'm still an angsty teenager with too much eye makeup. when i have too much feels, i write a song. i never remember the tune that i wrote after the first time of cry-singing it in my car, so now it's a poem. 

i'm internalizing terribly over this horrendous news story and i just have to get it out of my system before i can move on. i'd like to say it's an honorable pursuit and i'm cherishing the memory of this poor tortured little soul or something, but really, there's just all this blood rushing through my head and all i hear is the thick urgent adrenaline of my own kid in pain.

you may have read the story. i'm not going to repeat it. you don't need your own vivid misery. i'll just say this 3 year old boy was tortured and died, at the hands of his mom and other adults. he had a familiar round face and hair that hung in his eyes and a complexion like my henry's.  i'm near tears and vomit all the time and just keep picturing henry's parts in that kind of pain.  what he must have cried out or begged or sobbed in a voice like my baby's...i just...can't anymore. 

it's not saving him for me to fall into this pit. i can't be less of a mom to my kids because i'm lost in this grief spin. i'm going to leave him in heaven where i want him to be. with Jesus holding his crushed body so tenderly and kissing and crying over each wound on his tiny body and soul. that's it. 

here's my poem. moving on. have to. 

I want to hold you, keep you safe in my arms. 

Keep all the parts of you safe from harm. 

I feel like building a series of walls against the world to keep you whole. 

But I worry that you'd miss out on the chance to build your strength. 

To find your feet, find your voice, figure out who you are among us. 

You can't do that alone behind a wall. 

I'm sorry if sometimes I kiss you and hug you too much. 

Sometimes those kisses are aimed at another small person in pain who I couldn't reach. 

One who I wish I could hold and make well and tell them they're loved and important.

Not a hassle, a mistake, or something to hate. 

But I can't because they're gone now or halfway around the world. 

So many small ghosts out there it kills me. 

Too many little lives too full of pain. 

Every mouthful of new teeth should be smiling and throwing giggles 

up into the air all the time, like you do. 

Thank you for doing that. 

It heals my breaking heart. 

I want to tell you earnestly that I think that people are good. 

And that you should genuinely smile and be kind and caring 

and to expect it back from others.

I just don't know. 

I hope I'm not lying. 

I want you to trust me. 

But I'm not sure on that point. 

Times, They Are a Changin' (Sonofabitch)

5:15 in the AM, in the year of the Lord 2014 on the 2nd of November

the children woke up. there were more than the regular amount of children, because we were slumber partying with henry's honorary cousin last night.

and they all woke up.

5:20-5:30 in the AM, in the year of the Lord 2014 on the 2nd of November

made them all stay in bed, because...geez....

5:31 in the AM, in the year of the Lord 2014 on the 2nd of November

gave up. let's go watch 'sleeping beauty' in the 'tv bedroom.'

6:39 in the AM, in the year of the Lord 2014 on the 2nd of November

alcohol for the grownups, pancakes for everybody. cheers!

Pete and Repeat Were Walking Down the Street/ Star Wars Halloween 2014

so, sometimes i feel like my life is like this recurring story. it's a really good story- awesome and full of great characters, and i really don't mean to complain about it, (but will, of course), but it is a story on repeat. and it can feel exhausting and defeating sometimes. like i'm living out 'groundhog day.' most days are similar enough that i often have those glitches in the matrix where i sense i've done this before or i kind of forget where i am on the list or in the stack. 

i wrote this after i did a mountain of hand wash dishes at 9:30pm on a friday night. halloween friday night while everyone else in the house slept. alone, doing dishes. bored and tired, while convinced that the rest of the world is out having super fun times, is a lethal combo and out comes the irritable blogging. 

(for the record, halloween was fun. cold and rainy and brief, but fun nonetheless) 

the house is always a mess. some of it the perpetual same messes (why is there always so much outside on the inside on my floors?) and then ever-evolving messes. somehow train parts morph into block and then legos and then fake food pieces right before my eyes. technically different stuff, equally painful when stepped on in the dark. 

and why are there more dishes to be washed than we surely could have used? that is not math that works out. and there's always food that needs to be bought and prepared. feeding these people takes so much time. it's amazing. and money. i can't type out loud what we spend monthly at the grocery store and restaurants because my fingers won't let me, but somehow, we're not saving any time or convenience by spending extra money, and we're also not saving any money by putting all this time and work into the whole process. if our food situation were a factory line, we would be surely revamped or replaced by robots. (ooh....hmmm...)

AGAIN, i recognize that this is all really first world-y rich kid complain-y stuff, because we have a great house, healthy kids, super jobs, and a strong marriage. for sure hierarchy of needs, we're on the tippie top. 

but, we spend so much time just functioning in the day-to-day stuff, that getting the chance to work on side projects or creative endeveurs or deep cleaning the house or keeping up on finances or organizing/planning for the future or jumping on causes we care about, or hobbies we once enjoyed...it'e hard. 

up much of the night with a clingy, teething baby, work all day, miss the kids all day while at work, but then find them almost instantly extremely exhausting when i do get them because then i'm simultaneously feeding, entertaining and bathing them, while answering a billion questions for the one kid and holding and nursing a million tears away for the other kid, get them to sleep (temporarily), preparing food for the next day, maybe have a grownup conversation that isn't about logistics of life, but probably not, maybe have sex, but only if it's been such a long time that we're afraid that stuff will seal shut if we don't....and then rinse and repeat. every day. 

so i occasionally blog or read a little or watch a movie or get to know a new friend over drinks or start some shit on the internet, but all that time could have been spent doing all the shoulda stuff and it's hard to justify the time away, knowing that the stacks and lists are waiting for me when i get back. 

ok. done whining. 

i agreed to join this national novel writing thing for the month of november. you're supposed to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. there is zero conceivable way i can accomplish this task, but having it out there as a goal might make this month a little more distinguishable from the rest. change and growth and newness, along with a fresh pair of socks. these are my goals. 

(ahem...if anyone has any idea about what in the world i should write this novel about, i'm open for suggestions. i got nothin.' also, please to ignore all my change of tense and subject in this blog. it is not a direct reflection on how grammar bad my novel will totes turn out)

I'VE HEARD IT BOTH WAYS

let me tell you about my wonderful kid.

he pulls his step stool all the way from the bathroom into the bedroom so he can put it up against the changing table to get up to anna's height to calm her down when she's fussily getting her diaper changed in the morning.

he has started to say "i love you, too" most of the time when we love on him, even if while wiping away our kisses.

tonight when we were talking about stranger danger, he remembered a time 2 months ago when he was shy around my friends and he wants to explore the differences between strangers he's meeting who he's introduced to and strangers who are just dangers.

nuanced thoughts and dissections and associations and it's AMAZING! i love watching him grow that brain garden. it's incredible to see.

he's also kind of a smarmy little shit. as he's supposed to be right now.

he corrects us regularly. he's teaching us spanish now that he's learning some in preschool. he is 100% correcto 100% of the tiempo.

MIGO MEANS FRIEND. HOLA MEANS HELLO. JUICY MEANS BYE-BYE.

"juicy means bye-bye? what did you say? are you sure that's the word they use? because i've never heard any spanish word that sounds like that and i'm pretty sure 'adios' means bye-bye..."

NO. JUICY. JUICY MEANS BYEBYE. IT'S SPANISH.

umm....bien?

also, when he asked me the other day what an x-ray was, i launched into my limited understanding of the science of it and how it's used to look at bones and air and fluid (juicy fluid?) inside people, etc and he said, NO. AN XRAY IS A CREATURE.

i started to argue and then just...stopped.

this kid. he's cool. funny, smart, goofy, and just so much love. we got a really good one landed on us and i'm so thankful.

Baby Munchkin Pants is 9 Months Old!

dear readers, and probably my future adult-age children who are curious about what life was like for them when they were small, i have to admit something to you....

i just fell in love with my anna last night. 

and i feel like this is a horrible confession because she's 9 FREAKING MONTHS OLD and has been delightful all along and i am the worst that i wasn't smitten sooner. 

and don't get me wrong. i've enjoyed her, i've loved and cared for her, i've been able to admire her qualities and help usher her along the newborn path. 

but just now, last night, i feel like i really met her. 

i mean, babies are like raw stone that needs to be carved, with time, into a sculpture/the person they're going to be, right? and it's hard for me when they're tiny and have only soft edges and no defining angles to really fully attach. 

i remember that it took a while with henry, too. people describe being immediately in love when the baby emerges, or even forming an intense connection in utero. 

i don't get that. i love and give and provide for, but i don't get, like, goofy for kids until they are their own little people. 

so, anyway. anna is starting to become her own little person. and she's really cool. she laughs constantly, and makes really deep eye contact. she tries to catch my eye to share a smile. she's silly and makes patterns of noise that she shares with me and laughs when i finally join in. she's not afraid of anything. she is strong and forceful and pretty good at brushing herself off when she inevitably stumbles. 

these are all qualities i like in a person. i like her a lot. 

having a few hours alone with her last night while robb and henry rode their bikes on maybe the last nice night of the fall through our city gave us a chance to just be together. quietly and completely, i let the dirty dishes sit and i wasn't being asked 'star wars' trivia questions by her brother. it was just us. and it was swell. (PS- the guys had a crazy awesome time on the bikes, too)

so, adult anna, when you come back to read about your childhood on your hologram maker and laugh how quaint your mom was "blogging" instead of cyber journaling or whatever, you might be mad that it took me a while to really get you. you might also be mad that i'm making your milestones about me. but, you know, that's life, kid. 

oh! and speaking of milestones- you're pulling yourself up on everything, your'e scooting along things, you're eating lots of solid food, and you're wearing 24 month clothes. we'll find out soon at your doctor's visit just how moose-ish you are, but i suspect it's a lot. a lot moose. 

(added late: 21lbs 11oz weight, 29" tall, 17" head...92/91/29%)

and in case it's not abundantly clear by the pics- you're spectacularly beautiful. your eyes are smart and quick and your hair is fluffy and you are a perfect miracle and i love you. 

-mom ('that lady i focus so much time on in therapy')

I Think This is Where the Magic Happens? I Really Can't Remember.

you know how kids are pretty much a science experiment for grownups, right?

so the experiment tonight is putting both kids in the same room to sleep. like a nursery. like in peter pan, where all the the kids, no matter the ages or sexes, bunk together. with a dog taking care of them, bringing them their nightly medicine (stool softener probably? sedative?) and picking up toys and whatever. anyway. i digress. i really want a nanny dog. or nanny robot.  

...

ANYway, we'll see how it goes. so far one has woken up the other only one time. but it 's not even 9pm. so we'll see.

the goal is to get our bedroom back after 8 months of sharing it. it's time. i'm gleefully writing this lying in bed with all the lights on in my room. because i can. because I'M THE BOSS. (did you hear that? are they waking? shhhh! turn off the lights! hit the ground!)

Thanks and Revelations, Guilt and Rain Boots

when you lose someone- and i'm talking about after you've gotten through the initial bit of total misery, after all the people have left and the official family count is down and the food has been eaten and the how-to-survive-this books have been read- you spend all your time trying to avoid the sad. 

and the sad is like the cold and the wet of crappy weather. avoiding it means covering up, hiding out, running fast through it. but it keeps coming down and it still finds its way into your clothes. 

as time passes, you find that you're better at managing the weather and don't feel it stinging your eyes and your wrists as much. you can move through it without sprinting and you don't get quite as saturated. sometimes there are days when it even feels sort of warm or dry. 

and then years pass, and you've stopped even wearing your heavy coat and boots. you're long since dry and comfortable. so comfortable, that you have even stopped worrying about the dates and situations that used to make you the most sad. you get cocky. you think, 'i got this.' 

and then there it is. you're cold again. and your old coat doesn't fit because the last time you wore this you were smaller and you don't know how to handle this sad now that you're supposed to be a grown person caring for children of your own. 

this is how i've been feeling today. that familiar but ancient grief. i lost my sister 20 years ago to leukemia. we went on a make-a-wish trip as a family the year she died. i'm now volunteering for make-a-wish and i visited a family with children with chronic illness and special needs yesterday. 

and today i just couldn't stop wondering what my sister would look like now, how she would be the most wonderfully goofy aunt to my kids. how she would have looked in the bridemaid's dress at my wedding. 

i guess i got cocky. i poked the bear where it lives. and now i'm paying for it. 

i'll get through it and keep volunteering, but now i know that i might need to buy some really good boots in my size to keep warm while i do it. 

and what a confusing blend of emotions regarding my kids. 

worry. my kids are healthy and safe but what. if. 

thanks. my kids are healthy and safe, thank God. 

guilt. my kids are healthy and safe, why do i deserve that? or conversely, why in the world would anyone deserve having anything but healthy and safe kids? why has my life been such a crazy huge blessing? why has it been all break? (as in 'give me a __') 

guilt again. because i really like that one. lately i've been feeling like i never have any time to myself and i'm stressed out about house renovation stuff and i'm feeling pulled and needed by both my very loud, chatty, demanding kids, and...come. on. in the hierarchy of needs, i'm pissed because i can't polish my toenails. i want to smack me. what with our full-time well-paying, satisfying jobs we have after the educations we were gifted, and our beautiful home that we're talking about making even more beautiful, and our 2 (two!) amazing, perfect children who are healthy and happy and incredible (and here at all!) and who are ABLE to communicate what they want/need. and dear God, then i can then GIVE it to them! sheesh. i'm such a tool. 

awe. this family we visited yesterday is beautiful and functioning against all odds. i mean against ALL odds. against language and economic barriers, limited access to all resources, and demanding, challenging physical and mental impairments of several of their children. but i bet i saw them dispense 2,000 kisses to those children in the time we were there. smiles come easily to everyone in the family. everyone looking content and well cared for and loved. amazing. truly. 

so, when all balances out, i feel thanks and relief and optimism. missing my sister, but that's OK. she was great and i should tell her nephew and niece more about her so that they are acquainted by memories. and thanks that this wish family is living in so much love and seem to have some peace even in what must be a daily struggle. and thanks for the insane pile of blessings i have. first and foremost, my healthy, happy, loud tiny dictators. i'm so grateful for the crazy that they make me. 

Sometimes You're 'O' for Everything

we have had zero sleep wins in our house this week. the children are running the asylum. 

the girl baby sleeps in our room, allegedly in a pack 'n play, but routinely actually thrashing about between us in our bed, using my mammaries as a chew toy/comforter/punching bag/straw thing. 

so that's neat. 

and last night i was bribing the three year old male person to sleep (naturally). it went like: you go to bed like a big boy on your own AND sleep through the night AND stay in bed until your alien alarm clock glows green in the morning and you will get a treat. 

AND so, bedtime was tears and more tears and robb and i alternating sitting in the chair in the corner on his room, glaring at said child in the dark while he thrashed around and periodically checked to see if we were still there. for. an. hour. 

and then, at the crackiest crack of dawn this morning, to what does my addled brain ear holes appear?  muffled footie pajama feet walking toward me with the mouth part saying, WHAT'S MY TREAT? IS IT ROUND? 

sigh. but only sigh shallow-like, or it will turn into a snore and i will be in this seat for the rest of the night. 

Does Yoda Wear Pants?

i thought maybe i'd crossed some invisible line of child innocence and reality tonight. some barrier between the two worlds like where kids realize what veal is or when alice cooler guest stars on the muppets (this happened. great, f#cked up episode).

ANYway....i read some news about a teenager getting shot on the street in a gang-related crime. i don't know what i murmured to myself, but my face must have looked stricken, because henry was all curious about what was wrong. i told him that someone was hurt by a gun. it was very sad and upsetting and i feel worried and sad for everyone. 

he asked a bunch of follow-up questions (mostly "why?" to which i repeated, "i don't know.") and then he sat quietly, pensively for a minute. 

and i assumed i'd broken him (again). 

then he says, "i'm darth vader. the force is strong with me." 

and we're BACK! so either he's too young to be long-term traumatized by horrible events, or he'll process it more over time, or he's a sociopath (but he's so sweet....and gives such great hugs!.....)

i don't know how much to shield him. he's really young, but on the other hand, we're all up in the world and the world in us, and i think knowledge can protect and empower, so....? 

but he's got tons of the force within him, so what am i worrying about, really?

8 Months is Awesome

funny, sweet, happy and busy girl turned 8 months this week!

she's eating like a champ, growing like a weed and crawling like a pro. so i guess she's some sort of plant-life skilled wrestler? (do you ever think about the way we apply language? it's really goofy). 

anyway. 

she seems to have gotten through her first cold. a little temp and some sleepy grouchiness, but she's back to normal now. we've been so blessed that she's been so healthy so far. 

our next goal will be setting up a crib somewhere in our house (location yet to be determined) and getting her to stay inside it and asleep for sustained periods. 

hmmm....you gotta have goals, right? :) 

Hobbies and Exercise and Thinks, Oh My

the earlier hours of a new job + head cold + sick kids mean i've been in survival mode the last few weeks.

not that we're ever far out of the just-barely-head-above-water state (and obviously when i say 'survival mode' i mean the most well-off, privileged white suburban kind of problems we're surviving, obvs. i mean, let's be real here)...but recently it seems i'm either at work, working on stuff for/with the kids, or sleeping.

my body doesn't care that my mind has other priorities, it's shutting down around 8pm every night and not having the rest of my to-do list nonsense.

and i do feel better, having caught up with some sleep. (thanks to both sets of parents who came and helped take care of our kids over the past few days so we could work and sleep!).

but i'm really missing making time to write, read, watch movies, do anything other than the daily minutia tasks. i have all these projects half-brewed that i'd like to be working on and am just not finding the capacity. and i miss it.

i'd like to say i also miss running and that i'm incomplete when not working out, but that would be a bold lie and i would expect you all to call me on it.

so i'll just say, i also am not running.

and robb and i seem to only catch each other in texts and the rare face-to-face moment where we're discussing the logistics of life or arguing about something stupid.

last night my parents offered to watch the kids while we went out!! i'd love to say we took advantage of it and had a grand ol' time, but really, we insisted on putting the kids to bed because they'd been off their sleep schedule for days and are still ill-ish and i fell asleep with henry while putting him down and then when i woke up it was an ungodly late hour where no one EVER would or should leave the house to be social (10:15pm) and so i took a bath and went to bed.

lame. so lame. but....sleep.

so my goal is to get back into writing because i feel more like me when i am.

and running. because i'm supposed to say that.

The Over Under on Falling Over and Hiding Under a Desk

there's this old saturday night live sketch where they're on the campaign trail for some democratic presidential candidate and bill clinton shows up and puts the crowd into a frenzy just by sticking his arm onto stage and giving a thumbs up. the other candidate is despondent because he will never be as popular as clinton or as able to win over the people.

that's how it is here right now. anna is the throngs of democrats and i am bill clinton. robb is some poor schlub in a suit with a banner behind him with his name in big letters, but anna remains unimpressed and longing for the clinton years.

in other words, she's in the mommy phase right now. i remember it keenly with henry. i'm probably less flattered and robb less disappointed by it this time, since we knew to expect it, know that it passes, and acknowledge that it has mostly to do with the fact that i smell like breast milk. (i do not think that was bill clinton's charisma-making attribute, but i never met him so it could have been).

and sleep is still something we don't get a lot of as bananacakes still wakes to nurse often during the night. and her bed is next to ours, because of current house issues. so, after having half slept all night with a little nursling pressed up against me (it's really cute. i can't lie. she's crazy adorable. but still. bad for sleep), when i wake up super early for work, often so does she and then mornings get stressful. grumble.

so we're all a little under slept and a little over crabby.

we're also in a phase that i remember all too well from last time where both robb and i feel overly burdened and underly helped. like DIDN'T I JUST DO THAT? HOW IS IT NOT YOUR TURN? about everything. the little incidental annoyances are accumulating and we're sniping at each other. trying to remember the million reasons why we work and we love each other and we're worth the hassle to each other. but sometimes we're just glad that the generalized fatigue makes it impossible for us to plan and carry out a spouse murder. what is that called? isn't there a word for that?

it's 'mariticide.' no joke. that's what it is. i found it on the wikipedia page "Lists of types of killings."

so i'm definitely not being followed by the FBI now. (hi, guys! (and gals. i like your sensible shoes)).

anyway. phases are just that because they don't last. all mostly is well and, certainly, WILL be well soon.

cheers!

LITTLE JACKIE PAPER LOVED THAT RASCAL PUFF

ok, so anna is a physical phenom. she is so tough and so strong, i am more and more convinced she's going to grow up to be a stunt woman or something. 

putting her to bed is like pig wrestling. she's doing gymnastics and taking flying leaps and thrashing all her limbs. all this while nursing. 

i turned away to do something really quickly and when i turned back, she had dove head-first between the side of my bed and the pack-n-play, which is smashed up to the bed, so there's nary an inch between the two. so all that i can see are her legs, sticking straight up in the air, and i didn't know the best way to rescue her, so i just sort of grabbed her feet and pulled her out, expecting her to be completely panicked and crying. 

but she laughed. a lot. 

i'm watching 'american ninja warrior' right now and thinking...yep. that. 

henry rides his bike like a champ now. it's a balance bike (without pedals) but now he picks his feet up and just glides. he'll be ready for pedals soon. he goes really fast. 

and he's starting to recognize a few letters and gets his left and right correct much of the time. he's definitely ready for preschool, which is starting next week. we had to get him 'sumplies,' which he was super excited about. markers, crayons, paper, glue. so much glue. 

he's so incredibly sweet with his sister. he's taken to singing to her when she's upset. he launches into 'puff the magic dragon' whenever she cries. 

so a few weeks ago, we were on our bikes in the woods and anna was in the bike seat on my bike and i got tangled up trying to mount it (after having walked up the hill on foot next to the bike like a boss) and we both fell. so she was crying (she was fine), i was swearing (a little banged up), and henry was belting AND BROUGHT HIM STRING AND CEILING WAX AND OTHER FANCY STUFF into the woods. i think we scared a lot of birds. 

anyway. i have a lot of things in my mind grapes i want to share. i just need to make some time. soon! i swear! 

until then, happy labor day. hope you had a lovely one!

STOP SAYING WORDS TO ME

henry said 'STOP SAYING WORDS TO ME' to us this week and we both fell out laughing. i'm sure we'd been yacking about somesuch don't squash your sister while she tries to crawl or steal rocks off the playground at school and hoard them in your short pockets and then in turn, ruin the washing machine...or whatever. regardless of the content, he was displeased. 

so we've been using that phrase. it reminds me of a, more negative, favorite quote from liz lemon (tina fey/'30 rock') "i want to go to there!' her character said it a lot on the show (usually about a cute man or a donut) and she credits her 2 year old daughter for the expression. 

anyway. 

henry has had to endure a bunch of words from us recently about how he should not use the words fat or ugly. 

it happened. we were riding our bikes and came upon a couple, the man being really large, notably large, and henry, always quiet and discrete, says, 'DADDY, WHY IS THAT MAN SO BIG AND FAT?'

my heart sank. 

we got out of ear shot and then robb lectured him on how it's hard to be overweight and it doesn't help to hear about it. we've reinforced over the last few weeks that the word 'fat' really shouldn't be used. it hurts people's feelings. it's unkind. i'm tempted to change the language in 'the very hungry caterpillar' ("he was a great big fat caterpillar") so that he doesn't keep hearing the word. 

i don't know what else to do. i tried to give him different words to use, but his whole life right now is observation, categorizing, defining, learning the language and how to apply it to the world. and all of this out loud. LOUDLY out loud. other than just hissing at him to be quiet, i'm not sure how to compel him to not point out physical attributes of things and people around us. 

for now i'm just saying we don't use that word.  i'm applying my rule to the words 'ugly,' 'dumb,' and 'stupid,' too. 

i wanted to bike back and apologize to the guy on the bike but that may have done more harm than good. i just really hope my unknowingly shitty 3 year old didn't ruin his day. 

now we have to learn to be even MORE careful with that we say. for example, i probably should stop referring to anna as 'fat baby' within ear shot of him.  :) (18 month clothes. 7 months old. you do the math. she's VERY healthy. and too young to develop a complex, right? ). 

also, he asks for 'dance music' so i play him my 'p!nk' greatest hits CD. i had no idea he could hear/understand the lyrics until he asked for a song by nearly correctly repeating the chorus. oy. 

words mean stuff. they can cut or heal or manipulate ones impression of himself. they can give or take someone's power. 

i'm not going to stop saying words to him. 

also, on words. we've started teaching henry a few spanish words- mostly body parts and a few foods, my name is (what? my name is...) it's hilarious. and so now when anna babbles, we get, 'WHY IS ANNA SPEAKING SPANISH?' 

:)

7 Months Old! Catching Up is Hard to Do

ok. so a while back (the 13th) anna hit the 7 month mark. so i'm just finally getting around to posting about that. also, back at her 6 month checkup, i forgot to record this for posterity- she weighed 19# 6oz and was 27" long. she's at about the 90th % for those. her head is still wee tiny, but it's no longer beetlejuice shrunken head man small, so we're good. 

she is crawling-ish and eating like she invented it herself. we've gotten through a lot of the veggies and fruits and have moved on to beans and quinoa (all pureed, looking delish). she is still a very happy person. i'm sure she will be sleeping in her own room/bed and not nursing all night long by the time she's in junior high. so we're good there, too. 

henry monkey is also doing great. he start preschool in a few weeks! at the same daycare he's been, but now it involves school supplies and "real work." he's excitedly learning his letters because he wants to read by himself ASAP. he invents stories all the time. they always star him. natch. but sometimes he's henry whale or henry bird or henry monster. usually someone is sword fighting. he asked me today if butterflies have hands (and i thought of jeff goldblum). that one i could answer pretty confidently. but we have a whole list of things we have to 'look up later' because i just don't know. he's already kind of taxing my max on plants and clouds and, very soon probably, math. 

he also, out of absolute nowhere, asked me today if police are good guys. 

the killing of an unarmed child by a cop in MO happened recently and there's been a lot of talk about police. i wonder if henry is listening to everything we ever say. we're shaping his impressions of the world without even being aware. i told him policemen should be like superman, out to save people who are in danger or hurt or afraid. i think that's mostly true. or we can work toward it being true again. 

anyway. i'm on a cleaning binge today. i have this week off and we've vacationed a little and i've been utilizing daycare a bit so that i can get stuff done. i am trying to purge the house in preparation for an eventual move for a huge house renovation that may or may not happen. fingers and toes crossed that it can. but either way, i clean and donate and rid us of clutter! i want to exercise this house of excess so that i can say in a pinchy little southern voice, "THIS HOUSE IS CLEAN." 

Plus, I'm Reading a Book About the Holocaust

i'm working on a post about bringing children up in this sad, hard world (for your reading pleasure. you're all very welcome). about all the fears and worries that keep me up at night. about all the real things that go bump in the night. (recently most especially as they pertain to women and my fears for my tiny will-be woman). there's much to be said. much to be feared. much to be extremely angry about.

but this is not that post.

i'm trying not to let myself sink too low. but, you know, there's something like 10 wars going on right now (or conflicts or battle royales or whatever the hell congress calls them) where people are being brutalized. and there's all this hurt echoing all over and...i'm trying to not let myself sink too low.

and then robin williams succumbs to his illnesses and this cool bright light that we apparently all learned to laugh by, goes dark. and so yes(!) the nation discusses the woeful stigma of the mentally ill and possible resources that can be better targeted toward diagnostics and treatments, etc, etc. this is good. it's good. but such a sad pile of things to work through. at least maybe there's a flower of change growing out of it? eh?

but this is not that post.

and i have this tug-of-war between the things i'm little 'w' worried about like job stuff and spending enough quality time with my kids and being able to afford home renovations and whatever the magazines tell me i'm doing wrong in the organization of my refrigerator or the shininess of my skin (that's a thing, right? i am certain that's a thing)....and then big 'W' Worried about things like people killing and hating each other around the world, people in my town without food or homes, people in 1,000 different kinds of pain every day, the big scaries out there that could attack my kids from inside or out anytime throughout their lives...the ways i'm not helping people out with their hurt and could be. and should be...

and how i can not just protect but prepare my kids to face the world...

regarding monsters, i've been telling henry that 'for most things, if you're nice to them and show them love, they'll be nice back. most bad guys are bad because people were mean to them, so we'll be kind and see how it goes.'

i am trying to trust that this is good advice that will make him bless the world with kindness and grace and won't make him a sitting duck for pain. but the monsters are kind of everywhere, you know?

anyway. i struggle. i feel crushed. i feel small and scared. massacres and torture and suicides and so many scared and homeless and unwanted. they make me Worry and worry and Sad and sad.

and i just...this is not that post.

i just can't connect all the dots right now because it's too sad and hard, so i'll do what i do and just turn toward the happy short joyous folks who live in my house and tell you about what they're up to these days. because no matter what they'll face in the future, these days, these are happy days. and i thank God for them.

anna is crawling! almost. she kind of drags herself like a wounded ape whose foot got stuck in an ape trap (that's a thing, right? i am certain that's a thing). she can move really fast. especially toward any LEGO's small enough to choke on or any cabling/wiring that is sure to cause her sparkly problems. she's in the phase of life where she will have way more mobility than sense. no balance but tons of brave. no caution but just a whole lotta going for it. time to put everything back up to 4' off the ground and hope she bounces as much as henry did.

also she is happy. she is sweet. she's tough as hell. and so strong. 'henry what are you doing!?'  I'M RIDING ANNA...... this happens almost daily. and she's just laughing and somehow still pulling her beast self along with him on top...inching toward the toaster and the bathtub or the piano hanging precariously above the door or whatever.

henry is also doing amazingly well. he makes up stories and songs. sings 'puff the magic dragon' at the drop of a hat to soothe his fussy sister. the louder she gets, the more gusto he applies to the song.

he wants to hear stories constantly and robb and i have totally tapped out our imaginations, so now we tell him the plots of movies we have memorized. he doesn't know any better, so we're good. right now it's 'the robot and alien' movies... ('star wars').

he plays hard, sleeps hard, laugh hard. collects rocks from the playground. like 40/day in his front pocket. my washing machine has seen some stuff.

anyway.

now i'm babbling. but thinking about my wonderful happy folks has helped sooth my soul. that's not, like, their job on the planet or anything, it's just a really nice side effect.

more bummer posts soon, i promise. :)

A Few Signs I've Really Just Given Up

1. the pickup line i got tonight from my A for effort husband: 'so, just HOW exhausted are you?' (winkwink) and while i was trying to come up with sly retort, i fell asleep.

2. at the beach this weekend, the baby ate roughly 1 1/2 cups of sand. and i just don't even care a little, even if it means sand castle diapers this week. 

3. i found this weekend that i can fit between two huge carseats in the back of our sedan. and that when the baby fusses, i can dangle nurse her with my 2 XL X-long national geographic style breast. and i'm just really excited for the skill and not even worried about the ramifications of it. (which are: in sportsbra, have to make sure nipples land approximately symmetrically. at least w/ a 5" margin of error. note to self: never employ cause to wear a sportsbra and this becomes a nonissue)

4. i ate all the joe-joe's. 

sigh.

Managing the Deuce

http://youtu.be/etWWt-buZW0

i can't embed stuff on my ipad, so you'll just have to click on that link there your ownself. it's worth the extra effort. it's anna snarfing down some creamed kale. kid don't mess around. she's feeding herself. like a beast. 

she's also pulling herself forward with her giant strong upper body. BEAST. 

anyway. i've been telling people since i had anna how much easier baby #2 is. and it's true. but i've been reflecting about why and i've decided...it's not really because you know you didn't break the first one and so you feel calmer/less likely to break this one. it's not that you know how all the stuff works and can swaddle and mash bananas into avocado in your sleep with both hands busy playing with LEGOs and your eyes closed while breast feeding. 

it's because your life is already a crazy freaking goat rodeo after the first one and so, eh, what's another goat?

at least for me. i mean, i already didn't really sleep. for example, my darling 3 year old child woke up 3 times last night. and the baby woke up twice. i mean, what's the diff, right? (when i was putting henry to bed the first time, he said, 'GUESS WHAT, MOMMY? I LOVE YOU LOTS' and so....at 2am when he said, 'SNUGGLE WITH ME' it was still ringing in my ears, and so i said, ummm, yeah. ok). 

also, your house is already a mess. i mean, there's sticky, sometimes sharp, mostly colorful shit everywhere. it is what it is. that was a new crush of stuff the first time, this time it's already there. you're already tripping on everything and stepping in uncertain substances in the dark. 

and your time and energy is already dedicated to making your small person happy, so small 'people' is about the same. you already sleep through movies you really wanted to watch b/c you didn't have time to start it until 11pm after all the kids stuff was done...you already have given up all pretense toward exercise and hobbies because you just kind of want to stare at his eyelashes a little more or read ONE more book....

so, you're already a parent. you just get to do it again. and it's fine. it's great, actually. because it's so much less dramatic/traumatic than the first time around. 

and you really are better at it. you've learned how to laugh. 

right? 

He Sees You When You're Sleeping...And When You're Pushing Your Friends from Great Heights. smh.

let's see...what ridiculousities happened this week so far?

well. two days ago i got a voicemail mid afternoon from one of the teachers at henry's daycare that went like, "so, henry was going potty and he went to flush and somehow he slipped and he hit his chin on the toilet seat. he's fine now, playing happily. there doesn't seem to be a mark..."

i mean. i can't even. who smacks their head on the toilet?  but i could absolutely see it happening with him. he's always spinning and distracted by, like, imaginary spiders on the ceiling and not paying attention to where his feet are or where his chin needs to be.

he's fine and it made me laugh much, so win-win. what else?

oh, yeah. also at daycare this week. the director took me aside to tell me that henry had to go to the office TWICE because he was mean to his friends. one time he ran someone's hand over with a toy car and the other time he pushed someone off the slide.  (wait. what? he did what? wasn't there a macaulay culkin movie about a little sociopathic slide pusher? eesh).

anyway. no one was mangled, thankfully.

she mentioned that in her discussion with him, she employed the use of both God and Santa as monitors from above watching him be a tiny jerk. i'll be honest, at first i was a little weirded out by the idea of feeding this kind of mixed faith punitive fear tactic stuff to toddlers, but now i like the image of God and Santa sitting on a sofa somewhere in the north pole/celestial region, drinking diet pop and doing, like, a running commentary of how people are doing on earth. getting cheeto fingers on their lists and dropping some mystery science voiceover stuff in.

anyway. doesn't matter. i guess the God/Santa thing didn't phase him and it was only the 'and i'll have to tell your mom and dad' part that got him remorseful.

because we withhold suckers.

yes, we use his addiction to sweets as a behavior modifying tool. what's it to you? you got a problem, i'm taking you to the Santa/God couch.